HERE are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled pines, That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground Was never touch’d by spade, and flowers spring up Unsown, and die ungather’d. It is sweet To linger here, among the flitting birds And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks and winds That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass A fragrance from the cedars thickly set With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades―― Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old―― My thoughts go up the long dim path of years, Back to the earliest days of Liberty. O FREEDOM! thou art not, as poets dream, A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, And wavy tresses gushing from the cap With which the Roman master crown’d his slave, When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, Arm’d to the teeth, art thou: one mailed hand Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow, Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarr’d With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs Are strong and struggling. Power at thee has launch’d His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee; They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven. Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep, And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires, Have forged thy chain; yet while he deems thee bound, The links are shiver’d, and the prison walls Fall outward; terribly thou springest forth, As springs the flame above a burning pile, And shoutest to the nations, who return Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. Thy birth-right was not given by human hands: Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields, While yet our race was few, thou sat’st with him, To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, And teach the reed to utter simple airs. Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, His only foes: and thou with him didst draw The earliest furrows on the mountain side, Soft with the Deluge. Tyranny himself, The enemy, although of reverend look, Hoary with many years, and far obey’d, Is later born than thou; and as he meets The grave defiance of thine elder eye, The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years, But he shall fade into a feebler age; Feebler, yet subtler; he shall weave his snares, And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap His wither’d hands, and from their ambush call His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send Quaint maskers, forms of fair and gallant mien, To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth, Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread, That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms With chains conceal’d in chaplets. Oh! not yet Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by